Love You Forever
by SignsofSam
Summary: What if John wasn't there the night Mary died? What if it was up to Dean to save his brother's life?


**Disclaimer**: Eric Kripke owns _Supernatural_. I, unfortunately, can only look at Jensen Ackles and gush. _Love You Forever_ was written by Robert Munsch. Damn man-he's been making me cry with that book for probably fifteen years. Or more.

**Author's Notes: **I read _Love You Forever_ when I was a little kid, and it stuck with me since then. When I decided to write a one-shot AU to the beginning of the Sam's life, I thought of this book and Dean and his relationship with his mother. To me, this book totally relates to them, so, here's my story of the two melded together into something….something good, I hope.

I know John was probably out of the Marines by the time Sam came along, but I need some reason for him to be gone, so I just…added a little onto his serving time. That's what writers can do with their creative license, right? I also wasn't really sure about how John knew Caleb and Jim and Bobby, so I made that part up, too. And if/ _when_ John started hunting.

Other than those few inaccuracies/ _creative licenses being used_, I think this is pretty true to Winchester canon and hope you enjoy it.

**Love You Forever**

"And the prince and the princess lived happily-ever-after," Mary Winchester whispered, smiling at baby Sam as she finished buttoning his onesie. She glanced to Dean, who was finishing putting the toys he had had out up. "Dean, you want to say good-night to your brother?" The four-year-old nodded, running to his mother, smiling when she picked him up.

"Night, wittle broder," Dean whispered, kissing Sam's forehead.

Mary smiled, setting Sam in his crib. "Night, Samuel." She kissed his forehead, in the same place as Dean, and turned off the lights, leading her eldest son out. "Dean, you ready for your bath?"

"But, Mama…"

"Dean Winchester, you will take a bath tonight," Mary said sternly, eyeing her son. God, he had a stubborn streak just like his father.

"Mama, where's Daddy?" Speaking of his father…

"You know he's gone for awhile, Dean. He's in the Marines, and he's gonna be home in a month or two, for good-" Hopefully. As long as he didn't extend his tour or decide- no. They had talked about this. With two children at home, Mary needed John there, and his sons needed him. He _would _be coming home-he would. "Now, upstairs, bath time."

Dean groaned, but begrudgingly walked up the stairs, a grin on his face. He secretly loved his bath times, especially when his mother let him play with his monsters and his army men in the suds. "Mommy, can I hawve buddles?"

"Bubbles, Dean?" the four-year-old nodded, giving her a big smile. Dean loved smiling-and God, it was so endearing. She had a feeling Dean would break some hearts with grin when he grew up. Right now, is was nothing short of cute, and never failed to brighten her day if it had been bad.

Dean _whished_ his hands under the bubbles, throwing them into the air, blowing on them until they disappeared. Mary smiled, laying out a towel and Dean's favorite pajamas, a red and blue top with a racecar, and blue bottoms. She heard the phone ringing, glancing momentarily at her boy before grabbing the phone in the hallway. "Hello?"

"Is it to late to speak to the lovely Mrs. Winchester?"

"John! You didn't tell me you were going to call tonight!" Mary exclaimed, her smile growing. John was one of those people who, like Dean, could put a smile on her face in her most damned of days. She was sure Sam would be able to do it too-it was a trait her boys had.

"I'm sorry-I wanted to surprise you. How are the boys?"

"Good. I just put Sam to bed, and Dean's taking a bath."

"With bubbles?"

"Yeah, with bubbles. How are you?"

"Good. Itchin' to be home with you, with the boys. Got a call from Bobby earlier-just, reminded me of how much I missed home."

"I miss you, John. One month?"

"Not even. I ship out in three weeks, four days, four hours, and sixteen minutes. I'm counting down the days. Will you bring the boys with you?"

"Of course. Dean will be absolutely thrilled. You know how much he's missed you? Every night, when I put Sam to bed, he asks where you are, when you're comin' home,"

"I'm sure he's grown an inch, at least? And Sam? Is he sitting up? Walking?"

"John, you know that doesn't happen at six-months. Well, he is sitting up. And gurgling. He loves his brother-Dean takes such good care of him, playing with him, feeding him, changing him-he's gonna be a great older brother. Hopefully to more than one."

"Hopefully. We'll have to..uh…_work_ on that when I get home." Mary could hear him chuckle and she could just see the smirk on the handsome face.

"John Winchester, wipe the smirk off your face." She stopped talking as Dean came out. "You want to talk to your son?"

"Please."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too, Mary." Mary handed the phone to Dean, helping him put it to his hear. "Hey, Ace."

"DADDY!"

"How are you? How was pre-school?"

"Daddy, me an' Jake were pwayin in da sandbox an' we made a cwastle! A cwastle!"

"Did you? Was it big?"

"Humungus."

"I'm proud of you. Listen, I'm also very proud of you for being the man of the house while I've been gone, for protecting and your mom. You're doing a great job and I can't wait to see you. Less than a month."

"How wong is dat?"

"Seven days a week, four weeks a month, so twenty-eight days. And we'll go get burgers at the diner, and drive around in the Impala and maybe go see about a puppy?"

"A dog? Weally?" At that point in time, Mary took the phone from her oldest.

"There will be no dog, John. Now, tell your son goodnight, someone has day care in the morning." She handed the phone back to Dean with a reprimanding look.

"Night, bud. And we'll work on your mom about the dog. I love you."

"I wuv you too, Daddy, and so does Sammy."

"All right. Bye, bud." Dean handed the phone back to his mom, and she put it on the holder.

"C'mon, my favorite oldest, let's go pick out a story." Dean eagerly followed his mother to his room, going to his bookshelf. He had tons of books, books on every shelf, on top of the three-shelved bookshelf. He loved them all, but chose his favorite, _Love You Forever_.

"Dis one, Mommy," Dean said, handing her the book as he climbed into bed. Mary smiled, climbing onto the bed after Dean was settled in. She wrapped an arm around him, opening the book.

"A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang: I love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be." Mary looked down, smiling at the little boy that now lay sleeping in her arms. She closed the book, kissing his forehead before leaving him to his dreams. "I love you," she whispered, smiling as she closed the door behind her.

----------

_"No, you bastard, nooooooooooo!"_ Dean shot up in his bed, chest heaving as he let his mother's voice go through him. Was it a dream? Was it real? He cringed, his small mind trying to grasp the terrified words. He slowly crawled out of his bed, tears running down his face as a shaking hand grabbed his Little League bat, heading down the hall. He opened the door to his parents' room, the room bathed with light from his mother's lamp.

"Mama?" he called, voice trembling with fright. "Mama?"

A scream ripped through the house, and he turned, running toward his brother's room-where he heard the sound. He slipped on the floor, landing with a thud before hurriedly picking himself back up, clutching the bat close to his side, tears slipping down his face. He was scared-scared of that noise, of what it could mean, of the consequences-and he was praying his mother would come out soon, before he got there, with soothing words about how he was okay and she hadn't meant to scare him.

"Love you fowevew, like 'ou fow always, as long as you livin', my baby you'll be. ," he murmured, stopping at the open door to his brother's dark room. "Mama?" he called, stepping in, on his tiptoes, now wishing for his father to be there with him, to help him.

"Mama?" he called again, coming up to the crib. There Sammy was, all wide-eyed and giggly, and Dean smiled, leaning over to brush his brother's hair out of his eyes, kissing his forehead. "It's all right, Sammy. I've got you."

_Drip, drip, drip_. Red puddles formed on the blanket beside Sam's head, again, again, again. He reached out to touch the substance-and wrenched his hand back when a drop hit his hand, splashing off onto Sam's face, the blanket. His face scrunched in confusion, and he looked around, left, then right, then turned around to press his back against Sam's crib, protecting him.

_Nothing_.

And then he glanced up, and he screamed.

_His mother-his mother-his…HIS MOTHER! Oh, no. Oh-_

She was on the ceiling, face melded into pain and hurt and worry, her belly splashed red with the same substance that was now on Sam's bed, marring the baseball-themed blanket.

A drip hit his face, and he leaped back. "Mom…mommy?"

Flames burst from her body, and he tripped as he tried to back away, hitting hard on his back, green eyes still glued to his mother's terrified face. She was trapped in the fire, her body burning and turning black, and he reached up to her, tears on his face. "Mommy, what do I do now? Mommy? Mommy…remember…Love you fowevew, like 'ou fow always, as long as you livin', my baby you'll be. Mommy…please! What do I do?" His face was wet with tears, and the flames were getting so close, so close…

_Sammy. Sammy. Take Sammy…Dean, honey, you've got to take Sammy and run now. I…I can't help you_.

I can't help you.

But…it wasn't her voice. She hadn't spoken. Her face remained as it was since he had found her, anguished and worried, locked in that picture he would never forget. She wasn't speaking…she was dead.

"Mommy?"

_Go, Dean. Now! _

"You can' tawk!" he called, yelping as flames nipped at his skin. He grabbed Sam, careful, one hand under his head, the other under his body, just like his mom said, and he ran.

But he glanced one last time at his mom.

He bounded down the stairs, trying not to hurt his baby brother, but he was getting _so_ heavy. Dean was tiny-he couldn't hold the baby much longer. He nearly stopped at the bottom step, but that voice-the one that was eerily like his mother's but wasn't, told him to keep going. He had to keep going, even if it nearly killed him.

He wasn't safe yet.

He ran, his little legs tiring and cramping, but he kept going. Past the foyer, past the front door, past the front steps, past the yard, finally stopping as he climbed into the Impala, resting Sam on the seat. "I'm sowwy, I'm sowwy, I'm sowwy," he murmured, eyes on the house. Once he was sure his brother was safe, he climbed out of the cars, eyes watching the flames pillage and take, take his possessions, his mother, his fondest memories-

A fireball explosion caught him by surprise, and he was sent flying back by the jolt, smacking his head on the pavement. After the night he had had, maybe smacking his head had been a blessing.

Before he passed out, he saw the burning black corpse of his mother, still pinned against the wall, her face and body unrecognizable within the flames. He reached out a hand, and uttered "Love you… fowevew, like 'ou fow…always, as long as you livin', my mommy… you'll be."

--------

Sirens rang in Dean's ear, and he blinked, once, twice, trying to make the world come back into focus. Red and blue bounced everywhere, and he pushed himself up, falling back when pain exploded in his head, in his body-oh, he hurt. Everything hurt, his legs, his arms, his tummy, his _heart_. Everything hurt.

Someone kneeled beside him, and he jerked away from the yellow-covered hand that touched his shoulder. "Son, it's okay. Just lay back down."

Eyes focused on the source of the voice, and he nearly jumped when his eyes came in contact with the masked face. He tried to force himself up, but realized that at four, he didn't have the strength to lift the man's hand off his shoulder, let alone get up and away from him. Wait, he thought….he had seen yellow and a suit like that…with a Dalmatian at the fiwehouse!

"Fiweman!" he said in awe, trying to sit up again. The man laughed, nodding, pushing Dean back down again.

"Son, just stay there. You banged your head pretty good, and the doctor's gonna want to check you out anyway."

"What? I can'! Godda…Godda get Sammy!"

"Sammy? Where's Sammy, Dean? In the house?" Dean shook his head, tears rushing once again, thinking of his mother, and that awful picture of her face he was stuck on.

"No. Dat my mommy. She gone…somewhewe nice. Sammy dere." He pointed to the Impala, and the man nodded, standing up, going the three or four steps to the Impala, opening the passenger side door and extracting a baby. "Sammy! Give 'em 'ere!" Dean shouted, protective brother mode coming on.

The firefighter handed Dean his brother, watching as the elder boy started rocking the baby, slowly, very slowly, side to side, gently, smiling as he sang and cooed some lullaby to the younger boy. The man removed his mask, kneeling by Dean again. "Son, what's your name?"

"Dean Winchestew. My daddy a Mawine!"

"A Marine? Really? Was he here, too?"

Dean shook his head, no. "He home in tweny-eight days."

The fireman nodded, pulling away as two men came over, carrying equipment that made Dean feel really small. One of the men gently pulled Sam from his brother's arms, and Dean tugged back, determine to keep his baby brother within his sight. "Dean, they need to take Sam to make sure he's okay."

"Sammy's fine. I prodect him."

"I know, and you're doing a good job. But, we got to make sure his insides are all right," a paramedic soothed, holding out his hands. "I promise, I won't take him anywhere you can't see him."

"Weally? No whewe?"

"Nowhere."

Dean nodded his consent, placing his baby brother in the man's hands. The man unwrapped the baby, smiling when he gurgled and cooed, wrapping his tiny hands around the man's fingers. "Hey, Sam. I'm gonna be real nice, okay? Just gonna make sure you're okay." Dean watched with disapproval on his face, nearly jumping when another man came to kneel beside him, much as the fireman had, setting a bag beside his tiny body.

"You're name's Dean?" The four-year-old nodded, and the paramedic nodded, smiling, opening his bag. "I have an older brother named Dean. How old are you?"

"Fouw."

"Four? That's mighty big. You protect your little brother?" Dean nodded earnestly, wincing when pain rushed his head again. "Did that hurt?" Dean nodded again, though this time more subdued. "Dean, I'm just gonna check the back of your head for a minute, is that okay?"

Without Dean's approval, the man gently probed the back of his head, sweeping hair this way and that as he felt the cut that was matting the brown hair with blood. He moved his fingers away when Dean jumped, reaching into his bag for a square piece of gauze. He pressed it against the boy's head, soaking up the blood coming from the wound. "Dean, did the fire get you?" he asked gently, nodding to the singed pajama top. Dean pushed the sleeves up, revealing red marks from the fire. "We'll fix that when we get to the hospital."

"What's dat?"

The man smiled sadly, picking Dean up, resting him against his hip. Dean barely made out the words "the place where we tell you your mother died."

-------

John Winchester was frantic.

A phone call was not the way to tell him there had been a fire at his house and that his wife was dead, leaving him to wonder the condition of his two small children.

He was in the hospital, pacing in the waiting room as the front desk nurse went to check on his sons' room numbers after thoroughly getting _chewed _out. He was not having a good day.

"Mr…Mr. Winchester?" He turned, wondering why two cops were coming towards him. _Where was Dean? Where was Sam? Where were HIS two boys?_ "I'm Officer McLaughlin, Lawrence P.D. You're sons are upstairs, and I know you're anxious to see them, but I just wanted to talk to you a minute about what happened."

"Are Dean and Sam okay?"

"Mr. Winchester-"

"My boys! Are they okay?"

"Yes. Both are alive and well."

"Okay. I want to see them. Now, if you don't mind."

"Mr. Winchester, your wife is dead-"

"And I should have been there for my kids at the time! Dean's got to be scared! He just wants his dad, and I just want to see them. Please."

"All right, sir… they're in room 245." John nodded, passing the young deputy before heading for the stairwell, climbing them two at a time until he reached the second floor, searching for the hall that contained room 245.

He paused outside the door, staring at the "WINCHESTER, D. & S." that was on the mount by the door. They'd been there for over a day, while John was flying in from overseas and trying to get home. His poor boys were in here, alone, Dean probably scared to death, not really sure what had happened, why he was alone…

He opened the door, smiling as a small body rushed him. Before he had a chance to wrap his arms around his father's legs, Dean found himself in a tight hug, his face pressed into the crook in between his fathers neck and shoulder. Whenever his father was home, Dean liked to crawl in his lap and rest his head there-it was always warm, and it was as if the spot was just made for him. Tears were running down John's eyes as he hugged his son tight, trying to comfort unspoken fears, knowing he was failing miserably.

"Daddy, what happen to Mommy? Where'd she goew?"

"Deano, there was a fire…"

"I heawd hew scweam."

"You heard her scream? What did she say, Dean?"

"She say no basar' no. Daddy, what's a basar'?"

"Something you don't need to repeat for a long time, you got that?" John's mind was immediately turning, back to when him and Caleb dabbled in hunting right off their first tour. Was it something like that? Something demonic?

Had he caused Mary's death?

---------

"John, are the boys all right? Sam and Dean, are they okay?" Bobby tried to force out of his friend, gritting his teeth as John began muttering the story all over again. He looked back down at the book in front of him, leafing through the pages. "John, stop! You can't do this! You have two boys that need you right now. I mean, there are two of them, right? Sam's okay?"

The other end was silent, but Bobby could see John Winchester forcing himself to calm down before he spoke to a friend and made a fool of himself. "Yeah, Bobby, the boys are fine. Dean had a couple of second degree burns on his arms, a cut on the back of his head, skinned hands, but other than that, they're both fine. Dean did a good job of getting Sam out. What brought this on, Bobby? Who could it be?"

"I don't know, John. You made a lot of enemies in the short time you hunted. Anything-any of them-could have orchestrated something like this if they were powerful enough. I suggest you leave town, and leave it fast. I'll get a hold of Jim and Caleb, throw some ideas at them. We'll see what they say before you make any kind of move."

"I can't leave yet. Mary hasn't even been buried-"

"John, you've got to! The boys might be in danger."

"What? Why would a demon want my boys?"

"I don't know. Just get out. Quickly."

"And what about Mary? What am I supposed to do for her? Leave her in the morgue to rot or become ashes?"

"Doesn't she have a brother or something? Someone you can call?"

"I think she has a brother, but she hadn't seen him since she married me. What makes you think he's gonna want to do anything?"

"Family usually always forgives the dead their transgressions. Just tell him that you don't feel the boys are safe in Lawrence anymore, tell him you had to get them away or something, and leave."

John turned, looking threw the window at Dean, sitting in his bed, Sam on his lap, reading him a bedtime story. Because that's what Mary would have wanted-her older boy to be there for his baby brother, to love him and care for him, to be his best friend.

This would start now. He'd find whatever evil thing had killed Mary, and he'd slaughter it.

He hung up the phone, taking in an encouraging breath before entering the room. "C'mon, boys," he said softly, handing Dean a jacket to put over his hospital clothes. "We've got work to do."

--------

_Twenty-Three Years Later_

Dean Winchester smiled at the plain gravestone that marked his mother's grave. He remembered arguing with Sam about whether they should come here, and finally, begrudgingly, Dean had surrendered, and now stood a comfortable amount of feet away from the grave, watching his brother with his father's dog tags. John was gone, burned to a crisp and spread out over the land he had protected for most of his life (in more ways than one) and it was just Sam and Dean to fight the battle their father had started.

Over this very woman. The woman who gave heart and soul for her boys, and finally paid the ultimate sacrifice.

"I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my mommy you'll be," Dean whispered, a single tear falling down his face, and he wiped it away before Sam could see it. He didn't need to add fuel to his brother's you-need-to-let-your-emotions-out fire. He walked back to the car, to his Impala, the same Impala his mother had loved, and smiled.

_Love you forever, too, Deao You've done a good job._.


End file.
